Mr. Howell trudged into the hut with his beloved teddy in tow. He was absolutely exhausted. He had never worked so hard in his life. While he had only attempted a couple of times to put a meal together, he had never before done that much physical work. That's what a private chef was for. He climbed onto his cot, noticing that the other three men were already settled in.

How he missed Lovey. She was more than his wife, she was his everything. He and Lovey did everything together. She was the only person on that blasted island who understood him. She could relate to how manual labor was the equivalent of torture in his eyes. She was understanding about him needing his teddy bear at night time. He was completely dependent on her in knowing which pill to take and when. Although he had told Gilligan that he didn't understand women either... even after twenty-two years of marriage, he did have a pretty good understanding of his wife. He knew that she was used to being pampered and tended to. However, when push came to shove, she could be a real spitfire. Her determination for her and the other two women to make it on their own would not be deterred. If only he hadn't laughed at Ginger's comment about women having equal rights, then expecting Lovey to laugh with him. It was the dumbest thing he ever could have done, or so he thought.

After Lovey had told the girls about Lysistrata, he had made the comment, "Confucius say, woman who stand on rights sometimes get left". That had been the final straw. After that, all three women went to go pack so they could find other living arrangements. Mr. Howell had thought that Lovey had been kidding about Lysistrata... after all, Lysistrata and the women of their town had ignored the men in every fashion. Completely. Oh, how Lovey knew how to hurt a man! Now she was gone, and Mr. Howell didn't know if she would be back.

If only he had built her that hut like he promised then she wouldn't have left. The whole argument would have been between the two young girls and the other three men. He and Lovey could have sat back sipping drinks as they watched the others quarreling about the issue. He knew why he hadn't... he was lazy. Lazy was a word he never would have associated with himself. He would have simply said that physical labor was beneath him. After all, a Howell was wealthy, cunning, and wise. They deserved to be served by others. However, another thing he didn't want to admit to his wife was the fact that he simply didn't have the know how. He would constantly have been asking the Captain for his assistance... which Mr. Howell refused to stoop to that level. While the Skipper had done everything in his power to make them comfortable and safe, it was still his blasted fault that they were on that island. A good Captain would have turned the ship around at the first clap of thunder. No... he'd be darned if he asked that tubby bag of wind for help. That was just the kind of ammo the Captain needed to prove his point that Mr. Howell didn't have half the know how he thought he did.

Also, Mr. Howell had reasoned, if he and the misses had their own hut that meant they would have to take care of it themselves. Up to this point, Mary Ann and Ginger had been taking care of nearly everything that was of a domestic nature. Actually, that wasn't quite true. Gilligan, Skipper, and the Professor all took care of their own sections of the hut. It was only Mr. and Mrs. Howell who acted as though they needed help picking up after themselves. Graciously, Mary Ann and Ginger had just automatically taken care of the Howell's portion of the hut along with their own. Neither he or Lovey was familiar with housekeeping. From infancy on up, both of their families had been used to being waited on hand and foot.

Mr. Howell was tired. More tired than he realized. He cuddled his beloved teddy close and shut his eyes. Although his mind was still on overdrive, his eyes were heavy enough that he couldn't stay awake a minute longer.

...

The Skipper groaned as he got up from his hammock to wake Gilligan. He had been roused from a sound sleep and one heck of a dream when he heard Gilligan uttering the words "Ole'! Ole'!". Gilligan must have been dreaming about being a matador, which was fine. Gilligan often had very imaginative and vivid dreams. Only the Skipper wished that Gilligan would do it more quietly. He had woken up the whole hut. Not being able to sleep, all four of the men headed outside and built themselves a fire. They all must have been thinking about the girls as well.

The Skipper's dream had been very nice indeed. He smiled as he recalled it. In it he had been a Sultan. Mary Ann, Ginger, and Mrs. Howell had been part of his harem. Now the Skipper wasn't the best when it came to recalling world history, but he was no fool. He knew that a king's harem usually had one main purpose... to gratify their husband. As the ladies had danced around him, he had clapped his hands to summon them. That was when he had made a request to Ginger.

"I have an itch."

"Where?"

"It is pleasant wherever you scratch."

He began to psychoanalyze his dream as if he were the Professor. As a man, the term itch could mean something other than a literal itch. In his case, he knew exactly what kind of itch he had. He began to realize that any signal, any show of affection or interest that Ginger might show him would be gladly welcomed. It's not likely that would ever happen... but if it had, he was desperate enough to accept it and not complain. The Skipper became irritated with himself. He had never resorted to desperation. He was ashamed of himself that he had sunk so low. Even though the other two women were in the dream, he assumed the dream had been mostly about Ginger. He didn't want Ginger back just to scratch an "itch". He wanted her to come back because he missed her. He missed Mrs. Howell and Mary Ann as well. Not only did he miss their domestic abilities, but he missed them.

...

The Professor pondered his dream over and over. He knew why he had the dream. It was because they had just been talking about the women. It was the nature of the dream that had him puzzled. Why on Earth had he dreamed he was a famous Hollywood personality? He didn't care about the world of entertainment all that much. He never had a desire to be famous... unless he had been recognized for some future discovery he might make. Nor did he wished to be fawned over and pawed at by women. Or did he?

In the dream, he had been a famous celebrity. Mary Ann, Ginger, and Mrs. Howell had been overly zealous fans. When he appeared, the girls began to paw at him, ripping the clothes off his back. The Professor thought about this a moment. Perhaps the women ripping off his clothes resembled their constantly wanting something from him. Specifically they were always wanting answers like "Professor, is it safe to eat this?" or "Professor, do you have any ideas how we can get back home?". Some people might have been irritated by the constant questions, but the Professor loved it. He loved whenever Mary Ann would innocently inquire about this or that, truly wanting to find out his thoughts on things. He loved how Ginger would become engrossed with whatever he had to say. If one thing could be said for Ginger, she was certainly a great listener. It thrilled the Professor when Ginger would sit on the edge of her seat, taking in ever word. Mrs. Howell, was constantly praising him on how smart he was. For as much as he thought the ladies needed him, he found he needed them equally as much. Their questions, curiosity, and confidence in his knowledge was a driving force that pushed him to keep exploring, to keep doing experiments, to keep doing research. After all he couldn't let the ladies down. He might have told them what an inspiration they were to him, that was if they had been there.

The Professor sighed, hoping the women would be back soon.

...

Mr. Howell recalled the dream he had just had. He was being pampered head to toe by the women. Ginger massaging his temples, Mary Ann, buffing his nails, and Lovey painting his toe nails. He thought about his dream, one he had thought was so lovely, and realized it hadn't been a very nice dream at all. Instead of being by his side, his dear Lovey was stooped at his feet. Not only that, but she had been ok with the seductive way the other two girls were tending to her husband. Not only that, but she had been ok with the look of pleasure on her husband's face. Not in a million years would Eunice Howell ever react in such a fashion. Being a wealthy man, quite a few lovely young ladies had tried to get into his pocket book. They never stood a chance with Lovey. She would approach them, tell them off, and order them to leave her husband alone.

Lovey had begun to pour champagne over his feet as if he were some sort of god. Some god... he couldn't even build a simple little hut. He needed his wifey to tell him when to take his medicine. She had been the one to have packed for this trip. If it hadn't been for her, things would have been more primitive for them then they already were.

He missed his dear wife. Mr. Howell knew deep down the best kind of pampering he could hope for was the tender, loving care that Lovey showed to him every day. He thought she couldn't survive without him. The truth was, he couldn't survive without her.

...

Gilligan had pondered his dream. It had been a fun dream. In it, he had been a bull fighter, one called a Matador, as the Professor had explained to him. In it Ginger, Mary Ann, and Mrs. Howell were all dressed in Spanish attire. Each one had given him gifts. Ginger had given him a sword... well, the sheath it came in was meant to be for a sword, but all it contained was a little knife. Mrs. Howell's was a bouquet of thorn laden roses. Mary Ann's gift was a hat. He smiled as he recalled the way the three women had come charging at him. He was brave and confident as he waved his red cape in front of them. They had no power over him. He wasn't afraid to be in their presence, but quite the opposite. He was in charge. They came running when he beckoned them. After all, what kind of Matador would tuck his tail and run at the first sign of danger? A dead one, that's what. His dream had allowed him not to be sucked into any of their shenanigans, such as sweet talking him into doing whatever they wanted. This, of course, was mainly Ginger's territory... with the way she flirted and tried to kiss poor Gilligan whenever she wanted something. However, that didn't get the other two off the hook either. Mrs. Howell knew how impressionable Gilligan was, so she would pull the maternal card. She was the eldest lady on the island, so naturally some of the other's looked to her like a mother... Gilligan included. Oh, how she would call him a "dear boy", or pat his head, or listen to his woes... just like a mother would. Mary Ann's secret weapon was the coconut cream pie. It was Gilligan's favorite, and it was delicious. However, Gilligan realized that Mary Ann had another secret weapon that he hadn't considered until now... her lovely doe like eyes.

The thought of Mary Ann's eyes had caused Gilligan's heart to flutter for a moment. Is that what the Skipper meant about "the birds and the bees"? He sure did miss Mary Ann though. It had been odd that morning not to hear her sweet voice call, "Breakfast is ready! Come and get it!" The ladies had to come back sooner or later. Didn't they? Gilligan's thought were interrupted by the sound of the Skipper's voice.

"I think were're doing just fine without the women," he had said. In turn, Mr. Howell had proudly proclaimed that he had figured out a way to take his medication without missing any of them... he would take one of each every hour. The Skipper had assured him that the women would be back anytime now, then got to thinking about how long they had been gone.

As quoted by Gilligan, Mr. Howell, and the Professor, they had been gone exactly sixty-one hours, forty-two minutes, and eleven seconds. One could tell by the tones of their voices that every second of it had been agony without the women. Even the Skipper had to admit that he missed the little ladies too, yet he didn't know what could be done to bring them back. Gilligan knew, and the answer was quite simple... admit that they had been wrong and ask the women to come back. The solution was so simple, in fact, that Gilligan wondered why no one else thought of it first.

"Never!" The Skipper had scowled.

"Absolutely not!" The Professor declared defiantly.

"I'd rather die!" Mr. Howell had proclaimed. However, after given a moment to think about it, he changed his answer and said, "well, there's no reason to be stubborn. I miss my Lovey." All the other men agreed that this time they would have to cave if they had any hope of the women coming back.

They made their way to the girls' camp and Mr. Howell volunteered to be the first one to try and reason with them. After all, he was the only married man on the island. He had more at stake than the other three. Besides, Mr. Howell had reasoned, since Lovey was his wife it might be a bit easier to get her to come back... then the other two would follow. He reasoned that perhaps Lovey was missing him as much as he had been missing her.

It didn't turn out that way at all. As he was coming to call on them, one of them had soaked him with a bucket of water. As he returned to his cohorts, they greeted him with looks of surprise over his drenched nature. Little did the men realize, as they were trying to come up with another plan, the girls had left their little shelter to spy on what they were up to. In the distance, behind some bushes, lay a large, wiggling, bubble like creature. The girls couldn't make out what is was, though they were fairly certain that it was the men trying to scare them again. They laughed and pointed at it.

Ginger, who had turned around to look behind her. She was surprised when she saw the men standing there. If they were over there... then what was that in the bushes? Her eyes went wide with fear as she realized that this wasn't some prank. There was something out there! Urgently, she began to tap Mary Ann and Mrs. Howell on the shoulder. Once she got their attention, she pointed to the men behind her. Just as Ginger had done before, they stared at the men, then back to the bushes. As the reality of a real, live beast being out there began to sink in, the three women shrieked as they ran to the men for protection and shelter... Mrs. Howell behind Mr. Howell, Ginger behind the Professor, and Mary Ann behind Gilligan.